


The Mirror Has Two Faces

by ellydash



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellydash/pseuds/ellydash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to wear the cape. It makes my shoulders look bigger, which in turn makes me more sexually attractive to you, so we both win." Jesse and Rachel have the kind of phone sex you’d probably expect them to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirror Has Two Faces

“Okay, which one of us is wearing the cape?” 

Rachel lies back in bed, head against her pillows. “I want to wear the cape.”

“You wore the cape last time we did this,” Jesse insists. “It’s my turn to wear the cape.” 

“I’m almost positive,” Rachel says, even though she's really not, “that it’s my turn. And anyway, Jesse, I don’t know why you want to wear it. We both know it’s far more suited to my dramatic good looks than to your boyish charms.”

“Rachel, have you ever heard of a little thing called masculine flair? I want to wear the cape. It makes my shoulders look bigger, which in turn makes me more sexually attractive to you, so we both win.”

“All right, fine,” she says, and kicks the clinging top sheet away from her bare feet so that she's completely free of any physical distractions. She wants this encounter to be perfect. After all, this is the only way she can be intimate in _that_ way with Jesse while he’s away playing Dog on the three week Tri-State regional tour of _Are You My Mother?_. They have several very detailed scripts they’d prepared and memorized in advance, and tonight’s is her favorite, because it includes a full-length mirror. Getting into a fight will just spoil everything. “You can wear the cape.” 

“Good. Now, where were we?”

She shuts her eyes, imagining the scene. “It’s commercial break. I’ve just finished presenting Elaine Stritch with her third lifetime achievement award. She gave me a big hug in front of the entire audience.” 

“She gave me a bigger hug before the show,” Jesse says, “but I’m sure she likes you just as much. Go on.”

“You’re waiting for me in the wings as I come off stage.”

“Am I holding my Tony?”

“Yes,” Rachel says. She can actually _see_ all of this. Her ability to fantasize is really very impressive. Jesse looks so handsome in his tuxedo and cape, and, well, why _wouldn’t_ he look at her the way he’s looking at her? After all, she’s about to become the second youngest Best Actress Tony award winner in the history of the show, for her legendary performance as the hilarious yet heartbreaking ingénue in Stephen Sondheim’s fabulous new musical. 

“God, you look so beautiful,” he says, as if he’s read her thoughts, and she feels a thrill run through her body. “Your face is made up perfectly, with only the minimal amount of foundation necessary. You’ve got this touch of russet lipstick, just enough to make your mouth pop on camera. I especially like the lack of lipliner. Very natural.” 

“What about my dress?” Her fingers trace the skin over her sternum, lightly. 

“Impeccable. Tight enough to show off your amazing body, not tight enough to seem desperate. Those heels make your calves look incredible, by the way. Excellent choice, not that I ever would’ve doubted your instincts. If Streisand were here, she’d take one glance at you and immediately appoint you the obvious heir to her throne.” He pauses. “Wait, do you want Barbra to be part of this? We didn’t discuss it, but I’d be willing to make a last minute addition, a brief walk-on cameo, maybe a speaking role with two or three lines. We could substitute her in for Bernadette."

It means so much to her that he’d offer. So much, and there’s a large part of Rachel that wants to say yes, but long ago, she’d decided that Barbra and Rachel’s more detailed fantasies about her future success were like Liza Minnelli and marital happiness: never destined to meet. Of course, she feels a little guilty about her fantasy avoidance of the woman who’s been a musical mother to her, but somehow the very idea of Barbra playing an important role in a world where Rachel is the latest Tony award winner seems just too wonderful to be _truly_ believable.

So she says, simply, “No, thank you,” in the confidence that Jesse will understand enough not to make her elaborate. “We don’t need to include her. But I’m glad you like my outfit. And I have to say, that cape fits you very nicely. I can see what you mean about it enhancing your natural manliness. Are we alone now?”

“I’ve just told the stagehands to give us some privacy,” he informs her. “Bernadette Peters is still hanging around. She’s such a busybody.” Jesse clears his throat, and when she hears him speak again, he sounds a little further away from the receiver. “Excuse me, Bernadette, but I think Andrew was looking for you. Andrew Lloyd Webber? He and I are on a first name basis, you know. Oh, you’re very welcome, I’m happy to be of help. Well, thank you, that’s very kind. You’re right, my girlfriend and I _are_ incredibly talented.”

Rachel waits the appropriate amount of time. She looks down at her naked body during the pause, tiny gooseflesh raised on her stomach and thighs. It’s a little too cold in her tiny bedroom. She’ll have to invest in one of those space heaters before the New York winter really kicks in. Her first real New York winter! The novelty distracts her, momentarily, until she realizes that Jesse’s still quiet on the other end of the line. “Is Bernadette gone yet?”

“Yes,” Jesse says, low. “Come here. We only have a few minutes before commercial break ends and before Patti shows up for her show-stopping number, so we need to be quick.”

There’s a tone in his voice that makes her lick her lips, and her left hand moves, lazily, towards one breast, stroking, fingers circling the nipple. It stiffens in response. 

“Ow!” Jesse hisses. “Be careful.”

She stops, worried. “What? What did I do?”

“You grabbed my hand. My hand’s very sore, I just hit Finn Hudson in the face right before the show.”

“You didn’t hit Finn.” 

“I did. I’d do it again, too. It felt great. I’m glowing right now. Didn’t you notice how great my skin looks?”

“Jesse,” she protests. “We didn’t script that. And you know that I explicitly forbid any references to Finn in our experimental phone romps when we were writing our Yes and No list. I know you're still jealous of him, but it's been almost six months since he and I split up.”

“I’m practicing my improvisation skills. Anyway, believe it or not, it had nothing to do with you. It was pure self-defense. Finn just showed up outside the theater, out of the blue, and insulted my soon-to-be award-winning performance. To my _face_ , Rachel. An insult isn’t like a sloppy pirouette. You can’t just hand-wave it or pretend like it didn’t happen.”

“Take it back,” she tells him, “or I’ll be forced to do a little improvising of my own. I’m an excellent improviser, you know. Once, during ballet class, I performed a spontaneous ten minute routine set to 'Big Girls Don’t Cry' without even being prompted. I had to put the song on repeat four times in order to make it match the length of the routine. All of my fellow dancers were very intimidated.” 

“Go ahead. I dare you to improvise. Do your worst.” 

She thinks for a few seconds, before the flash of inspiration hits her, clearly ordained. “All right. If you insist on ad-libbing against my express wishes during our intimate conversations, then I’ll be forced to order you to take off your cape and tux –“

“Is that really supposed to be a threat?” 

“ – and then I’ll make you wear one of the two oversized you-know-whats I made with Daddy at the Allen County Fair the summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Jesse says, immediately. “I take it back.”

Rachel keeps going. “In the unlikely event you haven’t memorized the All About Rachel Berry fact sheet I gave you when we started dating again, that was the summer I went through my admittedly uncharacteristic yet very rewarding Janis Joplin phase. Naturally, I never wore the shirts in public, but putting them on in the privacy of my bedroom did help me develop a close intimacy with Janis’s _je ne se quoi_.”

“The tie-dye shirts,” Jesse gasps. “Of course. Wait, are we talking about the green and pink one, or the purple and gold one? Because I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to find the exact shade of green that’s complimentary to my skin tone before you even met me. It’s the little things like that that tell me we were meant to be together forever. Not that I’d ever be caught dead wearing a cotton-poly blend, let alone tie-dye, but there’s clearly a lesser of two evils in this situation.”

“The purple and gold one.”

“No. You wouldn’t _dare_ make me wear that in front of everyone.”

“If you keep insisting you punched Finn, I would,” Rachel says. “And when I do, Patti LuPone herself –” She holds for greater dramatic effect. “Will _see_ you wearing it.”

There’s a small miserable groan in her ear. It sounds weirdly similar to the sound Jesse makes when they’re making passionate love together. The resemblance sends a small shudder of arousal through Rachel, and she grips the receiver a little more tightly in her hand, letting her fingers trail over the top of her left leg, across the juncture between thigh and belly. 

“Believe me, Jesse,” she continues, enjoying the feeling of her nails against her skin, “based on my memorable yet sadly brief personal interaction with Ms. LuPone, I would venture a guess that she’s not the kind of woman who’s easily forgiving when it comes to t-shirts. Do you really want to risk making that kind of impression on her?”

“No. All right, fine. You win. I didn’t hit Finn. Finn never showed up at all. Rachel?”

She smiles, reveling in her little victory, letting her hand travel up her stomach, making lazy circles. “Yes?”

“I’m really hard right now.”

_Oh_. Her mouth’s suddenly dry. It’s silly to be nervous, it really is. This is Jesse, her boyfriend, and they’ve certainly been very intimate before. On twelve different occasions, actually. And that’s not even counting their makeout sessions in high school. What they’re doing over the phone while he’s on tour, though – that’s still new and different. And intensely arousing. 

Her mouth might be dry, but she knows from the new, insistent ache between her legs that other parts of her are not. 

“Is it because of my tie-dye shirt?” is the only thing she can think to say. 

“It kinda turns me on when you take charge,” he admits, and that’s another thrilling _oh_ for Rachel, because he’s never told her that before. She makes a mental note to ask him to tell her more about it in person when he comes back from his tour. “I’m also thinking about how great that shade of green looks on me. Can we make my cape be that shade of green? I’d like that.”

“Of course.”

He sighs with pleasure. 

“I think I can feel how hard you are,” she says, in a rush, because even though this is the second time they’ve been intimate over the phone, it still embarrasses her just a little. “Your – your erect penis is rubbing against my thigh through my dress.”

“Actually, Rachel, what you’re feeling is my Tony award. It’s okay that you got them confused, it was bound to happen.”

Rachel chooses to ignore this. She tries to think of what’s supposed to come next, even though they’ve done a terrible job of sticking to the script. What was that perfect phrase she’d come up with? There was a perfect phrase, if only she could remember it. 

Her hand’s still caressing the swell of her breast, letting it move slightly under her fingers. “I’m kissing you,” she says, for lack of anything more glamorous or specific. “I’m taking charge of you and I’m kissing you so hard that I’m pushing you up against the wall, and you’re breathless.”

“Yes,” Jesse agrees. He actually does sound a little breathless. “Push me harder. Just like that.”

“Put down your Tony first.”

“Put down my _Tony_?”

“Yes. There’s a table just to your left. Put it down.” 

“Wait.” He’s skeptical. “You mean 'put it down,' as in stop holding it? Give me my motivation.”

“Well, my breasts, for one thing. Did you forget that I’m wearing a very low cut dress and my breasts are exquisite? You could touch them twice as much if your hands are free.”

“Excellent point,” Jesse acknowledges. “I’m putting down my Tony. Very carefully. Please try not to knock it over. God, I want to touch your breasts. I want to touch every part of you. You have no idea how much. You, Rachel Berry, are _stunning_. Perfection in every sense of the word.”

Another pulse of arousal, this one stronger than the ones before. Rachel squirms a little, hips adjusting, and her left hand slips between her legs, fingers teasing through the soft curls. Not slipping inside, not yet. She wants to wait just a little bit longer.

“The lights are flashing,” Jesse says, suddenly. “Less than two minutes until we come back from commercial. We need to hurry, otherwise Patti LuPone will catch us. All right, I’ve got my mouth on your neck right now and you’re tilting your head to the side so I can get better access. Your breasts are almost falling out of the dress. You don’t even care. I think you want to be exposed.”

They’re back on script. Rachel allows a single finger to push between her lips, moving gently over the slick skin inside, and the sound that comes out of her mouth is entirely unplanned. “Oh,” she whispers. “Wow. Jesse, I’m, I’m really wet.”

He groans at this, and for a few seconds there’s only the sound of their breathing, harsh and fast. “Pull up your dress, okay? I need to be inside you.” 

She finds her clitoris, swollen and stiff under her finger, and rubs fast, just the way she likes it. “I’m lifting it,” she says. “I’m lifting my dress. I didn’t wear any underwear or pantyhose because I was hoping this would happen, Jesse. I haven’t had any underwear on all this time.”

“Rach,” he breathes. “Rachel, God. Lift your leg for me so I can – are you touching yourself? You’re touching yourself right now, aren’t you?”

“Yes –” Her hips lift off the mattress, pushing against her hand. “Jesse –” 

“I wish I could see you right now. You look so beautiful when we're making love. If scientists made a formula out of your face, I bet it would cure all the problems in that country I heard about once.”

Rachel hears the adoration in his voice, the unabashed enthusiasm he has for her, and she flushes with it, the quick, inescapable upsurge of arousal between her legs undoubtedly tied to Jesse’s words. He knows exactly how to make her feel like the star she’s always known she is. It’s like they have a secret language together, except it’s less of a language and more of an intense state of _being_.

“I want you inside me,” she orders, trying to balance the phone between her shoulder and her ear while her right hand joins her left, and Jesse inhales, sharply. “Are you inside me? Tell me when you’re ready, because I’m ready, Jesse, I’m so, I'm ready –”

“Yes, I’m inside – I’m pushing in you, slowly, you’re so hot and tight –”

She slides two fingers inside herself, still rubbing her clitoris vigorously. The two combined, working in tandem, is enough to make her whimper, and she clenches around her hands. 

“I’m going to,” she manages, “I’m so close, Jesse.”

Jesse’s breath hitches in her ear and he says, “Rachel, now. It's time. _Look at us_.” 

The mirror. 

She’d forgotten this part. Rachel can’t believe it, but she’d actually forgotten about the mirror until he'd given her the cue, and now she screws her eyes shut and imagines the gigantic mirror just opposite them, propped against the opposing wall, gilded edges glinting in the yellowed light. She watches their bodies as they move together, her long tanned leg bared and hoisted around Jesse’s waist, dress gathered up high, the ecstasy obvious on her perfectly made-up face.

“My cape looks incredible,” Jesse gasps, “it complements me perfectly,” and then, “I’m coming. I’m coming. Fuck –”

Rachel sees the way her strong, perfectly honed thigh muscle contracts as he pushes deeper into her, sees the way she looks back at herself in the mirror, taking in the two of them, hears the clack of heels that lets her know someone’s approaching, and it’s enough to send her over the edge. She comes hard, driving her hands as she moves through the orgasm; the phone drops out of the cradle she's made with her shoulder, and the Rachel she's imagining comes too, biting down on Jesse's shoulder to keep silent. 

She finds the phone again when she’s recovered a bit, using the hand that’s slightly less wet then the other, and makes a mental note to remember to clean it vigorously right after she's taken care of cleaning herself. “Still there?” she asks, a little unsteady.

“That was _great_.”

“Mmm,” she agrees, smiling, and nestles back into her pillows.

"Did Patti see us?"

"Almost. But not quite. I heard her footsteps, though."

“I'm pretty sure Bernadette might have been spying on us, by the way. You know she loves to watch."

"I'll give her a very significant look the next time I see her at one of Audra McDonald's parties," Rachel promises. 

"Good. That's perfect. Are you ready for our post-encounter workshop? Because I have several notes for you. They’re fairly minor, but you know I think it's important to never be satisfied with anything but your best. And I'd like feedback from you too, of course. Some people might say I've reached a level where it's very difficult to constructively critique my performances, but I want you to try."

Rachel stretches her legs, feeling luxurious and greedy in the lap of satisfaction. It's funny, but she likes the part where they workshop notes just as much as the sex itself. Jesse's right. It's extremely important to be the best in every possible way, even sexually. 

Which is why next time, she's going to insist _she_ gets to wear the cape.


End file.
